how to become a wildfire

numb

Big TW for physical & verbal abuse, and implied noncon. If you would prefer to just read a summary of this chapter, check the notes at the bottom.

If you're in a situation like this, or you're being abused and need help, you can reach out to any of these hotlines. If you need to talk, feel free to message me on Tumblr as @splendidlyimperfect. I've been through this before, and I'm happy to talk.
Australia: 1800 RESPECT
United States: 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)
UK: 0808 2000 247
New Zealand: 0800 733 843 (REFUGE)
Canada (by province): https://www.dawncanada.net/issues/crisis-hotlines/

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numb \ ˈnəm
adjective
: unable to think, feel, or react normally because of something that shocks or upsets you

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viii
april

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By the time Joel gets home at nearly four in the morning, Gray can't feel anything. The Gravol and the alcohol are fucking him up, and he's curled up in the corner of the couch because if he moves, the whole room rocks and he feels like he's going to throw up again.

When the apartment door creaks open, Bella leaps down from where she's been curled up on Gray's feet and charges over, tail wagging with excitement. Gray looks up, blinking blearily at Joel's outline against the hallway light.

Gray doesn't say anything. Sometimes staying quiet helps.

Joel shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up and crouching down to pet Bella. Gray can hear him murmuring to her, kissing her forehead and telling her what a good girl she is.

Eventually, Joel comes into the living room, staring at Gray for a few seconds before sitting down on the edge of the couch. Gray can't feel his fingers, and he wonders if that's a bad thing.

"How're you feeling?" Joel asks eventually. Gray thinks his voice is gentle, but it's hard to tell through the haze that's taken over his brain.

"Better?" he says, gesturing listlessly at the ginger ale and remaining Gravol on the coffee table. His phone is sitting there and Joel picks it up. Gray can't focus and he squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing hard to keep from throwing up again.

He's pretty sure he's still drunk.

Joel flips through Gray's phone for a few seconds, then reaches over and puts the back of his hand on Gray's forehead. Gray can't help a flinch. He looks down quickly at his hands, bunching the fabric of the blanket between his fingers.

"You don't have a fever," Joel says, ignoring the recoil and brushing his fingers through Gray's hair, then tugging on it, tipping Gray's face up until they're looking at each other. Joel's eyes are dark as he searches Gray's face. "You're lying," he says quietly.

Shit, Gray thinks. He holds perfectly still, trying to ignore the pain in his scalp. When he looks away, Joel shakes his head and pulls harder.

"Why are you lying to me?" Joel asks, voice surprisingly gentle. Gray wants to cry, because that makes it worse. "I came all the way home from that meeting to take care of you."

The words are soft and sad, and Gray can see disappointment in Joel's eyes. A wave of guilt washes over Gray – he's so fucking stupid. Joel's right not to trust him.

"I'm sorry," Gray whispers. "I didn't want you to worry."

"Well that backfired," Joel says, and there's the spark of anger that Gray's been waiting for. "I've been worried about you all fucking night. You're supposed to answer your phone when I call or text you."